Under the Wings of Chaos and Order
by LongShotl
Summary: A few short years have passed since the world was saved by the Justice League and its secret team of adolescents, and harsh truths are being recognized by the people of Earth. But, peace has had enough time holding the Earth. As a critical new era of human history begins, two new heroes find their way through the unbelievable battlefield of being superheroes.
1. Preface

I am not totally sure where to start. I mean, you only live once, right? How do you summarize your entire life for someone who does not know you, for someone who isn't supposed to know you? Believe it or not, we _do_ wear masks for a reason.

Hank did not believe me when I told him that. He laughed at me – like he always did – and brushed it aside. _We don't need a secret identity_, he says with a careless wave of his hand. I was amazed that he had the willpower to pry a hand from the controller. _What we need is ourselves. That's it. _He snapped his eyes over to me for a split second before returning to his GameSphere.

I wish it were true.

But its not like we could figure out our costumes; honestly speaking, I never really cracked the code to it all. I just learned to get the juices going and how to stop it. Blue spandex isn't awful, but it _is_ spandex. That stuff is hard to pry free when running for your life – or for the life of someone else.

Flying was another thing. I was so self-cautious. Hank would never admit to it, but I think he was too. He never admitted to any sign of weakness. Weakness, he concluded, was like a mask. _Weakness is nothing but a wall to hide behind, and I ain't building that wall up to cower. It wont rise if you don't let it. _

Easier said than done, especially with a body like his. He was shaped – designed, really – by the hands of Greek gods. I never said that out loud of course, but I did express my irritation at being not as well built as him. Who would not want to look like a ripped Ken doll after all?

Please do not say that to his face. If you learn anything from this, it is that you simply cannot walk away from Hank after insulting him. Do not talk to him to begin with - he is hostile, arrogant, rude, and fierce. I guess it all happens for a reason, but that does not mean we get to walk around like nothing happened.

Because something did happen… something always happens in life. You may not notice it – the slight smile, the sagging eyelids, the creeping tear – but just because you can't see it doesn't mean its not there.

Like right now.

* * *

Like most siblings, Don and I always had our differences – he was weak. I wasn't. He was a pushover, I was the one pushing.

And you know what? I never would have said it out loud, but I really loved the hell out of him for that. He was weak and dumb, sometimes even a drag to bring around, but he was my brother. I can't remember a time when we weren't at ends with each other or a day where we didn't laugh the night away as siblings did.

That little blond rat. I swear to god I will pluck the eyebrows straight off any mugger who thinks they can take my little bro from me.

I promise.

+

**Author's Note:**

**The material ahead is not necessarily inappropriate, but it will carry minor language as well as a little bit more of a realistic take on duties of being a hero. Notices will be pasted above chapters, warning if there is any material that may offend the moral of a reader.**


	2. Always (pt I)

School was a drag – I mean honestly, who wants to go and waste their days in that place? It's a prison without the bars and with all the smiles. If you aren't creeped out by your facilitators, then you aren't human.

Football made things bearable. When you turn in those papers for the school team, a sense of patriotism settles deep in your bones, and you find a reason to stand a little taller. No one else will see you that way until you _make_ them see your talent, and for me, that was easy. Going to the gym after school was easy enough, and I found that I could spend hours there. It wasn't too long until I started to miss dinner because I was breaking treadmills in half.

Yeah, call me arrogant, but when you do something this awesome, you do it a lot. Then with the jersey comes the girls, and we all know how a girl can distract an untrained soldier. Luckily for me, I have _diligence_. I picked apart the swarm of ladies and selected only the best. Sometimes a scruffy blond would flank me and my lady, but he was easy enough to lose. Well, to lose at school; its hard to ignore the blond bunny when you sleep in the same cramped room as him. Call him anything, really, and he'll take it without a flinch. He doesn't care to stand up for himself. It must suck being him, being so weak all the time. God, that must suck. It must suck being anyone other than me really… I mean, _this_ doesn't come cheaply, my friend. Hours on end at the gym, pounding what weak little toys they have until they burst… it's a blast. Try it some time – you'll enjoy yourself, I guarantee. Just aim for a gym where you wont be surrounded by old hags, you know? Do you know what I'm talking about?

Of course you do.

_28 Hours_ is the name of my gym. I don't really get it – you know, the title – but it's a good place. Real private. Real nice banister girls. Too bad we got off on the wrong foot.

"Dad?"

"Not home yet." A soft voice replies from the den. I'd be surprised if he came from anywhere but there: he rarely sleeps and never brings a girl into the bedroom, so why would he be in there? If he could, he'd sleep in the den. _That's_ how annoying he is.

"Just you?"

"Just me." the voice replies, a little louder, a little more sure of himself. I sigh.

Out of the three of us, Dad is the one I connect to the most - Don has problems with loosening up. I honestly don't get it. I never have. I close the door behind me, and the sunlight vanishes instantly. Our house is small, cozy, and obviously deprived of women. I can't remember the last time someone vacuumed – whenever it was, it was probably Don. Dad doesn't have time for that.

"Bro, do you know what case dad was dealing with today?" I hear a shuffle of papers as he pauses to think it through. Since he hasn't responded right away, I throw my gym bag on the ground and proceed to the kitchen. He replies but I can't hear him since I've drifted further away. I yank open the fridge and when I close it with a drumstick in hand, I see his skinny little face waiting for me with a stern look. I can't tell if its because I purposely avoided the meal he made, or if its just because he's _him_, you know?

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Nnnnnnope. Whats up?" I sink my teeth into the cold chicken until I can feel the bone. From there, I grind my teeth against the bird's leg until I have a grip of the largest chunk possible; maybe, just maybe, if I can gross him out, he'll leave me to myself tonight. I'm tired of him going off about responsibility.

Don crosses his arms against his chest. "Dad didn't have a case today, only court, but that was for a minor felony at eleven this morning."

I chew. "So what?" I manage around the hunk o' cold bird.

"He should be home by now."

"So what? Maybe something came up. Maybe –"

"Hank, its nine o'clock. I've left him a message already. He should be home, I had dinner ready an hour ago!" I want to say something about how his lasagna looks revolting, but I don't. I pause. I pause since he has a point, as usual. I scratch my head and swallow the last bite, slowly making my way over to him so he doesn't break his little voice. "Maybe he's getting dinner now. Maybe he hit the gym. Maybe –"

"Did you see him at the gym?"

"Well, no… but –"

"And why would he have gone to the gym?"

"To work on that beer belly, I don't know! God Don, will you calm down?" I wave the drumstick around in emphasis, nearly getting him in the face. He winces a little as the meat nears his face, but he doesn't move.

What do you know. He's finally grown something shy of a pair.

"Hank, something isn't right." I sigh and walk around him into the living room. Stepping over my toxic bag, I turn back to face him over my shoulder. "When did you call him last?"

"An hour ago."

"Did you leave a message?"

"No, I didn't want to be like a creep!" He retorts to my raised eyebrow. I roll my eyes and pick up the phone. "Fine, whatever. He's probably on his way home now. Traffic could be bad."

"Hank, he works _downtown_. We don't have enough people living in this place to have traffic."

I dial the housephone after playing with it in my hand. I'm not worried. I'm not scared. I just don't know what to think – as always, Don has a point.

_Don't_ mistake that for not caring.

The familiar ring of a waiting call greets me dully, and it takes about twelve seconds before Dad's voice picks up in my ear. Slight relief washes over me and I open my mouth to speak. What would I say? "Don's stressed out."?

"We miss you because we're little boys and not in high school."?

"Can you pick up some pizza on your way home from wherever you are?"?

"Are you on a date right now?"?

"Don's annoying me – no, I haven't broken him yet – can you get him to stop?"?

"Where's Mom?"?

Dad's pre-recorded message relays itself to me, but I'm kinda nullified deep inside. That last thought _burned_. It always has to do that. Dammit, thinking flipping sucks.

Frustrated, I hand the phone to Don and he quickly pulls it to his ear to get the last tid-bit of the message. Rushed, he tries to regain stride. "Hey Dad, we're just wondering where you are… Kinda worried… Sorry to bother, I was just wondering if we should start dinner or not… ummm, yeah, that's about it. I hope you get this message and –"

"-oh, yeah, I'm still here. Hey Dad, how's your Wednesday going?" He can't help but smile a little in relief as the sound of our dad floods his ear. The adorable, dorky smile of his quickly fades though as his eyes focus on a spec of dust in the empty space between us. I eye him as he stares the dust down before backtracking – stepping nimbly over my bag – and reaches for the van keys. He's shuffling a sweater on and ignoring my questions as he replies, his handsome face melting back into worry.

Sometimes I think he was born with a worried look on his face.

"Yeah Dad, we're leaving now." Don waves me over to the door (still ignoring my questions) and waits as I battle a jacket out of the closet. By the time I do, we're both out of the little apartment and he fumbles with the keys. I have a hard time decoding his body language and his voice, so as he fumbles I pull the keys out of his hands; the phone pressed against his shoulder, and naturally he has some sort of remark for me when I do this, but here he just stares down the car's handle. I pull his shoulders and hold him at arms length, and he refuses to look at me. He closes his eyes and pulls a long-fingered hand up to his brow and wipes away some stress. "Dad, Dad? Dad just listen to me – yeah, I'm still here, so is Hank – listen, we're on our way. Fill me – us – in when we get there, okay? Stay with the police though."

"Yeah, you too. We're leaving now. Bye."

The silence is long, longer than when he found me with Angie in his room (we were getting adventurous, so to speak). "Don?" I ask tentatively. He finally looks at me – not scared, not happy, but… apprehensive. Its like logic, the only thing he's trusted to lean on, had vanished. He steps a little to his left, blue eyes concerned as he looks at a bird that perched itself on our rooftop. In the suburbs, little houses chase littler houses down the bending street. The clouds loom above, threatening yet tired of their own duty to the universe. The houses are dull colors like the king looking down from above. Life is absent. People are busy inside on their phones and computers, wasting the day away. "Don?" I ask again, a little weary of the weakness that falls from my lips. He shakes his head, rubs his brow, then looks me square in the eye. "Don, you still here buddy? You still here little brother?"

"Uh, yeah. You drive." He weakly asserts, walking around the front of our dull blue minivan (it was mom's, and we never had the heart to get ride of it). We're seated in the fading chairs with the engine coming to life before either of us speaks. Like always, I'm the strongest, so I speak first.

"Where are we going?"

The hospital. Melbark's, the one on –"

"I know where Melbark's is, Don," I try to tell him with as much patients as possible. "Why are we going there?"

"Dad was hurt by some thugs. They're cleaning up the details."

"Is he going to-"  
Don sighs. Whether its in relief or worry, I'll never know. "He's going to be okay." He turns towards the greyness. I pull out and speed away.

"You should drive the speed limit."

"Suck my-"

"You should wear your seat belt."

I listen to him on that one.

We're almost out of the winding street before we realize we still have the house phone.

* * *

:3. I've got over 30,000 words already done on this, we're so far from getting started


	3. Always (pt II)

I have a great respect for the brave men and women who wear the badge. In fact, it's a respect unparalleled. You cannot deny that what they do for the world is incredible.

I remember walking through the double doors of the hospital, barreling forward as fast as I could with dignity. Officers flanked the walls and clustered outside of Dad's presumed room. Hank stormed ahead of me – even now he denied being worried – and his head perked up just a little as he decided that a few officers – who were, indeed, in front of him - were not in front of him. He slammed through and bounded over to our father, leaving me to apologize with a dipped head and red cheeks; as rude as it was, I do not think they cared to much. It seemed like they felt something for us and it stretched across their faces…. pity?

"Dad!"

"My boys!" He heaved himself from his bed sheet and shoulders past the police officer that was interrogating him. Dad looked older than he already was with a soaked-through shirt and his tie dangling as loose as possible - the worst I could see right away was the black eye, and the stitches across his brow. Otherwise, his old eyes looked down at us like he did when we were toddlers. The officer stepped further aside and set her hands on her wide hips, her brilliant amber eyes just as tired as our dad's. I offered her a smile but she does not seem to really care. I awkwardly looked away as she stared me down, or what little of there is for me. Hank squeezed our dad until he huffed in protest and he moans my name.

I stepped forward. I remember this moment, its like a splinter in the fabric of time; it is in moments like these where you remember what it means to be happy. Its these moments that get glued together to make a life.

The officer cleared her throat to break apart our reunion, and another police officer – this one a tall, pepper-haired man with a frown the size of Texas – handed her a manila folder. After Hank lets him go, Dad rubbed my back in greeting and ushered us over to his two new friends. "Boys, these two fine soldiers are helping me out; Hank keep your manners and Don keep your questions to a minimum… got it?"

I stuck out a hand to shake with the two people protecting Dad. Salt-and-Pepper… no, he was Sheriff Derek Downey or something like that… shook without much of a care and … oh, what was her name… Officer Lara Beechan actually seemed to care even though it was well past her hours. Hank flat-out ignored them and took Beechan's unoccupied seat. She pulled up another without thinking twice, and Sheriff Downey planted himself on the edge of a monitor. Hank ran an oversized hand through his lion's mane of ginger hair and summons the strength to ask the golden question.

"So, Dad, what's up?"

"Your father was attacked."

"Obviously."

I rolled my eyes at Hank's sidedness and tried to rephrase for him. "What my brother _means to ask_ is for the precise details. The phone can only relay so much information."

"Four thugs – "

" – the one the trial was for?"

"-No, Sherlock, the pals of the kid your dad was givin' justice to." The manila folder was handed to me. I peered into it as Hank glanced over the pages. "Whats this say?"

"This boy," Officer Beechan said, rubbing her brow and glancing at her watch, "was being trialed for a robbery-gone-wrong, sixth robbery attempt, actually, but it looks like he got a little more realistic since the first go-round. Your dad trialed him back then, and the kid promised to go no where near jewelry stores after that. You'd think he'd ov' learned, but he's been out and about since then. A passerby saw him this time in Mr. Doughtry's grocery store, and you can imagine how things went from there. Nothing too extreme, but extreme enough to these kids to take a beating from a fifty year-old store owner to an assault on your father. Your father was found by a pair of bikers at approximately five thirty – we suspect he was beaten at around two." She looked over Hank and into me – not _at_ me, but into me – when she spoke next. "Do you understand what this means?"

"Our Dad's in trouble for being a good guy." I tried.

"No." Downey's voice was cold and heartless, "It means that you are all in trouble – if you weren't already, anywho, were you?" I glanced at Hank's ginger head at the same time Dad did; when we met each other's eyes he simply rolls his. I smiled, despite myself. Some things will never change.

"We're issuing protection for your family until the case is closed."

Beechan looks at the Sheriff. "I think we should stretch it out a little longer, sir, just in case. Kids these days-"

"What do you all think?" Downey said, turning to Dad and later us. I was not against it, nor was Dad. Hank is not for it. He pouts and sinks deeper into his chair. "I don't get it – why don't you focus your dogs on stopping the guys before they even get to us?"

"Son," Downey tiredly tried, rubbing the bags under his eyes, "We aren't Gotham. The situation is not critical."

"You're saying my dad isn't _important_?"

"I'm saying we need to keep people from harm. You father has two broken ribs, a black eye, seven stiches, and when we found him he had a concussion. I am not allowing that to happen again, not in my city. Do you understand me, boys?"

My "Yes sir" was overshadowed by Hank's rough "fine."

"Do you feel well enough to go home, Mr. Hall?"

"Oh yes, thank you officer. There is no better place right now than home with my boys." Dad smiled at us as he heaved himself from his chair again. The Sheriff put out a hand and eased Dad back down. "Sorry sir, but we need to keep you here a little longer, to clean up the details and all."

"Oh, of course! If you want to boys, you can head on home. I'll trail along in my own way."

"We want to stay." I nodded in respect to Hank's demands.

Downey looked us over before nodding. "Very well. Make yourselves comfortable."

I could not help but look at Beechan. She seemed like a mother who was supposed to be tucking in her children at night. Her hair was beautiful one day a long time ago, but now it sits idly in a ponytail. I respect her. I remember her, and for what its worth, she becomes a beautiful grandmother.

.

..

.

* * *

Don is such a pussy. He's a brat, a pushover, and a self-centered brother. I can't believe I'm related to this dick.

Do you know what he did the entire time we were there? Chat up the officers. Ask them about there days. He even tried to get one to laugh. Can you believe him? He got the hottest one to laugh. I can't believe him, robbing me of my chance left and right! I gave him a good shove – okay, maybe more like three shoves, but same deal – before he realized his mistake. He looks at me, trying to be defiant and all, but it doesn't work. I was able to get her to talk to me, but it didn't end as well as I was hoping. Don probably said something to her before he left. What a dick.

The officers and portable geek-doctor cleared Dad to go home, and we all went together. Don took the minivan as Dad and I went straight home. At first we didn't have much to say. Then he cleared his throat in the way that all fathers do. You know what I'm talking about.

"Hank?" I clear my throat; I don't trust my voice, so it takes a second to collect myself. "Mmmmhmmm?"

"How are you doing?"

"Jim-dandy Dad, thanks for asking."

"I'm sorry I'm putting you boys through this," he says, pressing on and taking a right turn. We're sitting at a stoplight with the left blinker idly ticking, the space between us fluctuating in beat. A solid three seconds pass before I try again.

I wipe my face and clear my throat again. Dad does the same. "Dad?"

"Yes?" He turns to look at me. I try to keep steady, since one of his sons has to. "Are you okay?"

He sinks deeper into his seat and runs a hand over his thinning hair. The rolls of his stomach bulge in the growing darkness, but he smiles. "I'm great now that I've got my boys back with me." The light turns green and he pulls away. "I can't tell you how terrified I was earlier, though. I honestly had no idea what was going on. I mean, one second I'm sentencing this kid to community service – it wasn't his first crime and he was desperate… I feel like I was fair, don't you? – and its an hour later that I walk out to ToGet's on the corner. These boys just didn't want to let their buddy serve anything I guess. And I honestly don't blame them, I mean, we're all human at the end of the day, aren't we?" I'm not too sure how to respond… Don's always been kid for this kind of talk. But, for some odd reason, I don't think Don could answer this – Dad is talking to _me_, and I feel like our answers would be totally different. Dad wants to know what's in my head right now.

"Honestly?" He takes another turn, and we're finally on the long road down to our apartment building. The silence grows in a festering anticipation of what comes next, and I kind of blurt out what comes naturally. "I really, honestly think that you did the right thing… but I don't know what you deal with shit like this naturally… I don't know what another case would be like… but Dad, I do know that what those thugs did was _hella_ wrong." I look at him, but he can't look at me. We're nearly in the driveway. I can't help but think about how this day would have ended if things had gone wrong – and in this moment, my rage boils.

It's a rage as palpable as the car handle being squeezed in my hand. It's a rage that burns on the football field when you're one point behind and in the last quarter. I can't help it – I'm _pissed_. I clench the handle and grind my teeth._ Those goddamned rats think they can get away with this… _I can feel the circulation slowly leaving my hand. I look at Dad again; I don't think he can see the madness inside of me.

"I wont let those scumbags get away with this, Dad."

"Hmmmm?" He didn't quite hear. The stench of his sweat drowns out the Passat.

"I'm just glad your home." I finally muster.

He might stand for justice, but sometimes justice isn't strong enough to correctly deal with life. Do you know what I've been through? I lost Mom. Dad's barely ever here! I have to look out for Don! Besides, if these kids get away, who will stop the next wave of wannabes? What's going to stop other low-lives of this town? Batman? Superman? Yeah right. Towns like these don't count. We don't matter according to them, just like the other 6 billion people on the planet. They have never been focused on everyone, they're just self-centered _pricks_.

Life is too screwed up to accept this. Someone has to do the right thing. I will not allow it to blow over.

"Hank?" Dad's out of the car, waiting for me to get out too. I unbuckle my seat belt with a smile, because I used to think that football was my future: now I know better.

I'm going to do what politicians are too scared to do.

.

..

...

..

.

* * *

I'll be slowing this down a little since I've got two part-time jobs now, plus classes :3. Sorry to be a drag, but I sincerely hope you enjoy this. Reviews? Reviews 3 3 3


	4. Always (pt III)

I remember feeling weird about letting Dad go to work the next few days. The officers were kind enough to offer him personal protection, but that was not what I was particularly worried about.

Even so, Hank and I had just a few weeks of school left, and Dad was not about to let us walk away from our grades. As hesitant as I was, I obliged and tried to carry on; Hank, on the other hand, needed a fair amount of convincing. When we took the minivan to school, a frown was glued to his face, and I was really worried he would be stuck like that for at least forever.

The worst part was how hard little details began to become crisp images. People left and right were providing their sympathy – and again, I willingly took it, as Hank did not – but I could not reach peace. I was not even cognitive when Ms. Carrion decided to make me her new victim in Economics. Maybe it was a good thing though.

The moment I got home, I knew I was not able to function until whatever bug in my head was subdued. Backpack aside, I flung open the laptop and imagined myself automatically fumbling away. But with the opportunity literally at my fingertips, I had _no idea what the hecksauce_ I was trying to do. I stared at the buzzing screen. I scratched my head. I then closed it, pushed it aside, and made room for homework… but that doesn't last four minutes. The computer is up and open again before I realized it. I can not remember what I was looking at on that pixel screen, but I was occupied for the two hours until Hank stumbled home. He rumbled at me and I mumbled back. It was pretty normal… up until the point he slammed his body down next to me. He scans the post I am reading, which happens to be a scientific publication on the value of whale excretion. He sighs outwardly the sigh that weighs a thousand pounds.

"Don-"

"Believe it or not, everything is relative." I cut him off before he can actually start. I keep going as I click on an extension, avoiding his eyes. "Ambergris is extremely useful in the modern world. Did you know-?"  
"Do I care?"

"-Its nearly as potent as it is valuable. I mean, this stuff is wicked."

"And what does it have to do with life?"  
"Ms. Carrion had an interesting fact today. Did you know that Fool's Gold ripped off a lot of people in the 1940's? The Gold Rush in California –"

"-Don?"  
"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"No, I was getting to something." I looked at him now with a sternness and he had an arched brow: maybe we actually _are_ related. "The kid, Joseph Zimmerman, first attempted to rob a jewelry store, right? Well, since then he's targeted a gas station's mini-mart, a children's toy store, and that dollar store on the corner of Dunsmuir." Hank shrugs. "So?"

"So he's realized his fault. He didn't have any practice in the area, so he decided to go a little smaller."

"Don-"

"And here's the best part. The grocery store owner is a failure in the business, so why does he have it? He's actually barely got it together, and his bank accounts are off the charts with loans. He was born into a family of bank owners, and as the youngest of three brothers, he fell short of his family's standards."

"Don, listen –"

"No Hank, you listen. This kid wasn't there for milk and eggs – someone targeted this guy for him. He's a part of an organization, that's what his buddies were there to beat up Dad for." I wait for him to interrupt me again, but I think I finally got his attention, the taste of excitement on my lips. "I think he's a part of that gang from Oakland."

I can see him physically chewing over my words; the first part seemed to fly past him, but the last part stuck and took root. He ran a hand over the papers on the desk and refused to look me in the eye. A dog barked outside, and the faint reply of a hissing cat can be heard.

Finally, he drew a deep breath through his nose and spoke. "Don, this is pretty far-fetched-"

"In what way? It's a solid lead that needs to be verified. Come on Hank, I know you've been doing your fair share of research. I know there was no practice yesterday, so where were you? Why have you been skipping Spanish, you love Stra. Johnson! And don't think I didn't hear about your meeting with Mr. Renata at school."

"You're over your head." He stood up, long, thick legs unfolding with a growl on his lips.

I shoot up beside him. By size, I did not stand a chance; but I did not care. "Hank, this is our dad we are talking about. We are a family, and without Mom, who else do I have? I can't go on without you, Hank," I tried a Pathos version before slamming down on him. "Besides, you can't do this on your own."

Hank shoved me, and I staggered backwards. Then I fell. Then I tried getting up again, but I slip on a paper on the ground. Hank stood over me, a fury in his eyes. "That is enough, Don! What I do in my spare time is not important to you!"

"EVERYTHING you do is important to me!" I roared back. " . ."

"THAT IS WHY I HAVE TO DO IT ON MY OWN!" A vein popped from his neck as he nearly screamed at me. By the ferocity, I was taken back… but it is the sincerity that made me gasp. "What do you mean? Do you think you've got something to prove? Hank, you've always been the strongest of the two of us, the bravest, the biggest. You don't have to prove anything!"  
"YES I DO!" His massive arms trembled as he shouted, and a silence festered between us.

"And what," I mused slowly together, "might that be?"  
Hank plopped down on the ground by my feet. I collect myself into a sitting position as he rubbed his temple. It is almost a thousand years before he spoke again.

"I, I, i.. i promised Mom." He looked up, and for the first time in twenty lifetimes, I saw his chin quiver. I crawled over myself and over to him so that the space between us was next to non-existent. I could not get my voice above a whimper. "Hank, its that very reason why I can't let you go alone. You're all I've got now."

"But… you're so weak…"

"Hank," I spoke slowly, "We are in this together. We can figure this out, we can go to where the gang hangs and gather some evidence. We could keep Dad safe, but only if we do this together. Its either both of us or neither of us."

He chuckled half-heartedly. "You can't stop me."  
"I can report it to the police the moment you fly from the nest. I think Sherriff Downey would like some more personal time with you."

Hank arched a brow. "How'd you know about that?"

"Well, he obviously wasn't a friend of yours when we picked up Dad at the hospital. What beef does that guy have on you?"

"His daughter is Shryl."

"Oh."

"And we kinda got in trouble. He walked in on us when he didn't know we were together."

"Ah."

"And-"

"You can keep the rest of the story to yourself, Hank, I figured out what I need to know."

We sat in the silence without a word on our lips. He reached out to clasp my shoulder and rocked back and forth. I was not sure if he wants to say something or if he wanted to just knock me over. His grip was violent, his eyes avoiding mine. His eyes, violent green, like his violent grip. I thought of Mom. I always have thought of her. I always will.

But in this moment, it is not her I see, it is him. Him in his primitive, weak, exposed way. And when his eyes fell back on me, his baby brother, I smiled. He smirked.

"Together?"

"Together." I reaffirm. "Always?" I ask, tentatively.

"Always."


	5. Mastermind Bananas (pt I)

Don has always been a prick. Obnoxious, loud, annoying. Endless, useless knowledge. What a prick.

But if nothing else, he's always known what to say. He lacks a filter between the right and wrong times to speak, but at least he knows stuff.

(And it turns out that whale vomit is really worth something. Can you believe that?)

We spent the next two days trying to figure ourselves out before I settled on a plan that jolted me awake in the middle of the night.

"Don."

"Don."

"Don."

"Don?"

"MMmmmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"The hell Hank!" I smirk since I got his squeaky-clean mouth to curse. "What do you want?" Don challenges, rolling over in his bed; I can almost see the exhaustion in his eyes and the frustration in his curling fingers.

"We should mug these guys."

"Mmmm…"

"What?"  
"Did you think at all how we're gonna mug these low-lives? And why, Sherlock, WHY could you not save this for the morning? _Its one o'clock_."

"It _is_ morning bro. Do you think Batman has a bedtime?"

"Hank, _Batman_ is _not_ real. We are _not_ batpeople. We are _not_ Gotham PD. We are high school students, to which I have an AP Chem test tomorrow and I need to sleep _now_. Give me seven more hours." He rolls over to avoid facing me, but I press on, the excitement festering in my like a mad cat trying to swim (we [I] took the neighbor's cat and put it in the bathtub to see what would happen. Long story short, it was really funny). "But Don, what if we bait them?"

"Hank, tell me your master plan in the morning."

"But I'll forget it by then!" I whisper furiously. He whimpers back at me in desperation. "Hank, please, for the love of god, freaking write it down then!" He nestles deeper into his blankets and I fold my hands behind my head. My thoughts make me feel like a madman, and the growing smile on my lips doesn't help at all.

"Okay, what if I tell you it and you don't talk back? Just listen?"  
Half way through my resolution he starts rustling loudly and plops from his bed onto the ground with a weak thud. He's grumbling something – its either chemistry material or another curse of some sort – and starts walking to the door as a messy burrito. It took him a while to come around and get over out late-night conversation, so I pounced on him the moment he walked out of 6th period the next day.

He was shocked on a number of levels at this point. I was accused of a lot of things, like skipping class just so I could be there to get him, but as always I kinda lobbed at him and ignored what he was trying to say; I swear to God, people like Don just love to hear themselves talk. I swear to God.

I mean, seriously. But at least I still had my idea, and at this point I've actually figured out a thing or two about my master plan. I don't care what the therapists say - this hero stuff is easy!

"Bait."

"Now, hold on Ha-"

"Bait. Lure those crooks out of their hole in the ground – but, get this, cause this is the catch – we lure them _into_ their hole _in the ground_. Ya with me?" He rolls his eyes and turns to the kid on his other side, who was waiting for some sort of chemical equation. The kid freaks out because of what Don says – something about Bores or Lice or something I really don't know at this point – and he starts cursing out the teacher. Don turns back to me, his commitment to that guy out the back window, and he frowns. His face is ugly when he frowns. "What do you mean by all this? Hank, luring them out means giving them an incentive to leave wherever it is they are and to come into the open. You want to lure them out…. But into their own shelter?"

"If they' in a comfy spot, they wont suspect a thing! They'll have home field advantage and that'll be it. BRO come'on!

"Hank, of all the times and, and the places – " he whips his head around to make sure none of his looser friends are listening in. "-we can't just go, go _galloping_ about talking about mugging people!"  
"Hall!"

We both freeze up, and he spins around like it's a knee-jerk reaction. His balding chem teacher peeks out of the classroom, waving a calculator in the air. "Hall, you left something behind. Nice work, by the way, on one thru five," he sizes me up with a disappointing, scorching eye and smiles friendly back at my little brother. "You've got the makings of something great, Mr. Hall. Keep up the good work."

Don nods vigorously and bows a little bit, a relieved smile taking over his little face. I swear to god this kid is gonna be the death of me some day. I swear.

When we're finally making our way home, Don lets out a massive sigh and looks at me without opening his eyes. I guess taking nerd-classes makes you tired: serves you right. "Hank, I've been thinking. We can't-"

"The HELL we can't! You promised! You said together, n' always!" I see him cringing out of the corner of my eye – it might because of my vein-popping rage, or maybe because we almost his Cassie Grey's new Nissan.

"Hank, learn to drive! I don't want to die with a B+ in chem!" He waves to Cassie so she knows [we] feel sorry… or something like that… and continues with me. "Your idea… isn't bad. But I don't understand how we'll jump them from there. Like you said, they are familiar with the territory if we do them in there… "nest"? Nest. I mean, are we going to have the element of surprise? How far can we get with that? Because, no offense, but if its any more than one guy and a, a, a kid, or, or, or some sort of dwarf, we're screwed."

"Bro, get back into judo." Don stiffens up and looks straight ahead. "Hank," I almost think I broke him, but he suddenly spasms in his seat and waves his hands around like the Italian mom was. "That was SIX YEARS AGO!" he turns on me, a vein popping out of his perfect face. "Who in their RIGHT MIND has TIME FOR THAT?"

Aww man, this is too perfect. I smile a crooked smile at my baby brother.

"Sonofabitch it's been six years?"

"GAAAAAAHHH!" He throws his fists in the air and freaks out a little bit while I laugh and try to not get us killed. The best thing about being a brother, just so ya' know, is getting to push buttons. He's calmed down by the time we're in our driveway, but he has his face in his hands.

"Hank, sometimes it surprises me that you've made it this far in life."

"But the idea…." I turn off the ignition and finally get to eye him closely, "do you really think it's a good idea?"

"Hank."

"Yeah?" _shit_ he's gonna pop again.

"Do _you_ really think it's a good plan?"

"Well, everything I come up with is gold. You still haven't answered my question."

"Okay, I have an idea to work off your… mastermind plot." He winces like he's gonna regret what he's about to say, but its too late to walk away now. "What if we size up the location they're at? Think about it. Attacking them firste is fairly foolish, since we wont know what they're up to. Let's size up the place or the nest or whatever you're calling it and –"

"Hey, _you_ called it a nest."

"I don't know, get photo evidence or something? The best way to do this in a practical manner is to try and get in on the gang. Gain their trust, and they'll show us the head of the operation. First step should be to figure out the works of the gang. From there we can be reasonable and hand it over to the police, or-"

"OR, we can be our father's sons."

"Precisely."

"Well then." I swing out of the minivan and throw my backpack on the lawn, triumph on my face. This little dick can't deny that I'm the brains of the crew now! I mean, say what you'll say about him and me, but we're CLEARLY just as smart as any other pair of bananas.

At the end of the day, the only thing you need to know about us is that I kick stereotypes in the crotch; if only there where other people of my magnificence in this world. We'd make some pretty beautiful babies.

.

..

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**Thank you for being patient with me. As always, comments are appreciated!**


	6. Mastermind Bananas (pt II)

I do not know if he ever figured out that his "plan" was nothing at all what we agreed on. Initially Hank babbled about sneaking in and "baiting" the gang somehow. Did he ever wonder _how on Earth you bait a bunch of people_? With money? It is not like we could ever tie a dollar to a fishing rod. I got him to agree on infiltrating the group, but saying something and doing something is two totally difference ideas. I really want to believe my brother will go far in life, but it is moments like those where I question the way the universe works.

Now, this kind of research is not one conducted on the computer, nor in the library, so Hank insisted on leaving me behind; contrary to his beliefs, I do indeed have a backbone. Besides, how was he going to find the gang? A dollar tied to a flagpole with a "call me"? Yeah right. A real partnership isn't a one-way highway – collaboration is required for success. Again, please ignore whatever Hank will tell you otherwise.

So while he tramped around school, then town, then the neighboring towns and the police stations, I went to work and began data-mining with the people I knew were associated with the group – and, where better to start but with the people that know them well?

Four years prior to our life-changing event, a smile event occurred in our small town. A high-schooler named Blake Ready was walking home from a quick grocery stop; when approached by some people, the high-schooler defied them. The gang took the high-schooler and held him hostage for approximately an hour, demanding that someone _somewhere_ give them money for his quick release. The released details did not amount to much, but the masked gang agreed to release the hostage for something in the boy's possession. Public knowledge never included what the gang _really_ wanted, and the boy left for a private middle school. When Freshman year began in high school, the missing teenager returned to public school, and few people, if any, bothered to talk to him.

Blake Ready really was never too much to look at; similar in structure to me, he unfortunately contracted a Napoleon syndrome, leaving him with an attitude like Hank's. I cannot say it was without reason, however, as many things in life befall upon those around us as consequence.

It was our lunch period when Hank shouldered past me to barrel down the hallway. I looked at him, and found my eyes on a person on the ground.

"Blake? Blake Ready?" I tried, playing innocent. We never really spoke since entering high school – perhaps due to me not talking to people in general – and he looked up at me with a burning rage in his brilliant brown eyes.

"Oh, hey Don." A quick look around let me see what the situation was, and it appeared to be fairly standard for people like us; someone pushed him over in the hallway, and no one had bothered to help him up.

(Passersbys: I respect that, in life, you may be walking along because you do not want to be a part of other people's problems, but there is truly no shame in helping a fellow human being on his feet.)

I kneeled down, Chemistry book balanced on my left knee as I start reaching for his papers. As I tried to sort through it all in an orderly fashion, he grabbed his folders and research documents by the handful and crammed them back in his backpack. I tried a weak, earnest smile to release his hazardous hatred for the world. "You know, Mr. Hughes actually takes points off for papers that aren't pristine."

"Oh?" He looks at me, glasses firmly smudged against his flat Philippine-Irish face. "I just transferred from Ms. Cleary's Biotech into Hughes. You know him?"

"Know him?" I tried, another stupid smile, "Blake, the man's a monster when it comes to grading. I barely got past last year, but I figured something out just in time for the final." His internal demons started to die down, and he looks with a desperation in his eyes. "And pray tell, Don Hall, what was that?"

"He gave me a three percent grade boost just because I asked him about his daughter. He's a madman when it comes to his family – you didn't hear this from me –" I leaned in to whisper a little bit –"but if you suck up to him a little bit each day, he'll make sure you don't end the semester with a borderline grade."  
He laughs at me, his frustrations and pains free-floating away with his charming chuckle. "Heh, you don't say!"  
"I do!" We stood up with everything collected in his beat-up backpack. The hallway cleared out a little bit by now, and I turn towards the cafeteria entrance. "It looks like you'll be stuck in the buying line for a good twenty minutes. I packed extra today, do you want to head over to the library to study?"

He sneered at me. "What makes you think I need to study? Sorry pal, but some of us actually have friends that we sit with." I held up my free hand in defeat, but pressed on. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep, its just that I saw you in there almost every day these last two weeks – or, wait, was that your or Tommy Franklin? – and I saw you have a study list for the final coming up in Hughes. I can give you a rundown of his next test if you'd like, but I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to-"

"No, wait! You're cool, you're cool!" His round face lit up, and he finally flashed a crooked smile at me. "Yeah, I guess we could hang. What'cha got to share?" I tucked my book under my arm and turned around to walk to the library. "Eh, a little bit of everything. I'm actually not really hungry anyway, so you can pick and chose from what I've got."

And that is how we spent the next thirty-seven minutes together. We caught up on each other's last few years, as well as each other's studying schedules; while Blake talked the lunch away with my bologna sandwich getting spewed back and forth, I wrote out a list of highlights that I remembered were on the exam. We talked idly about our brothers, our parents, and our own misfortunes at home. Blake's mother had been laid off for the third time in the last seven years, and his father was who-knows-where. I told him about how our dad was mugged, and he sagged a little in his seat. I looked up at him, a pause in my handwriting, with a face of blatant concern. "I'm sorry Blake, I didn't know that it was-"  
"No, its nothing really."

"Well, its clearly something. You're free to speak with me." We locked eyes before he laughed despite himself. "Jesus man, I feel like I'm going to church when I talk to you! Naw, its just…. I'm kind of jealous of you two. I mean, at least you've got your dad, right?" He twirled a pencil in his hand, eyes lowered to the ground. "I know its stupid and crazy, but you're pretty lucky, in that sense." We were both silent for a strong second before I tried again.

"No, you're right." I finished writing a sentence, paused to look at him, and kept going. "When the heart is challenged, its our duty to do what we can to keep moving forward. It's hard to keep life in perspective, but its good for us." I looked at him again, and he was a little startled by my words. "I just keep thinking of those kids in Africa and the Middle East, you know? Where they don't have food at all, or fresh water, or what about a roof over their heads? Things like these keep me going forward."

"You're one hell of a guy, Don."

"Well, think about it," I suggested, waving the complement away. "There are children who are threatened daily by a bomb over their heads. Who are we to complain about the little things, like a pop quiz? At least we're getting an education." I tried to smile at him again. As the silence grew, I keep writing.

I cannot say I lied here. I cannot say that it was easy to say, however. And I was not necessarily taken back by his next question, but I was not ready for it.

"What the hell happened to make you… you, and your brother Hank "the Hammer" Hall?"

"Blake, no one _really_ calls him that."

"The guys I used to hang with did. He'd harass them endlessly, and you know what, he'd do the same to me too." I set my pen down to stare at him. Blake had a round head being held up by his round hand. He was a simple creature with simple wants in the world, and I cannot guarantee to you that his story had a happy ending; but in this frail moment of time, he was nothing more than a victim of reality.

"Hank decided to treat the world one way, I decide to do it another." I tried; and it was sufficient, because he dropped the subject.

But now that I finished his study guide, _I _reserved the right to ask a question.

"Blake, can I… ask a question?" He shrugs but wont look at me. "Sure, shoot."

"The gang that got to my dad_ I think_ was one that jumped you that time back in middle school. I know you haven't seen them since then, but you were held by those guys for an hour… and I know its asking a lot of you, but is there anything you can tell me about them?"

I apologize for the confusion, but at the time I did not know what was going on behind this boy; I did not know the events of that night, and I did not know how to address it without first appearing as a blunt and arrogant fool. You will soon understand what truly happened that night, but until then you shall experience as I had.

Blake Ready was quiet at first. "I know one is allergic to peanuts, one is missing a finger, and the little cult leader has a stick up his ass. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out a thing or two about them, beyond their eating habits." I tried lightly, but it was evident that the effort was nothing short of a misfire; bullying, for those of you who are not aware, is a serious crime to the heart.

"I know they're connected to Oakland somehow, but beyond that… sorry. I can't really help you." He was lying. I did not see it then. He blatantly switched the subject, but I thought it was just a defense mechanism. "Wait, does he really have the characterizations of phytoplankton on the final?"

I was defeated, but I tried to smile earnestly again; there is no shame in helping people, even if it comes to no benefit to you. "Yeah, well, at least on the test last year. The little suckers had their own section of four or so questions on the test, so remember-"

"Suck up to Mr. Hughes, gotcha." He looks at me with a grateful face. "Thanks, Don, for everything. We should hang again some time."

"Yeah, sure." The bell sounded off, and people everywhere got up to leave. Blake threw the paper in his backpack and pushed in his chair in unison with me, and he slaps me on the back.

"Thanks man, I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing, Blake. Don't worry about it." We left quietly since their really wasn't much to say, but as our ways parted, he froze and spun around to face me one last time.

"Hey! Don!"

"Yeah?" I looked over my shoulder to see him light up with knowledge.

"The gang! I feel bad not telling you more…" He took a few steps back in my direction. "I'm actually not allowed to talk about it, I'm sorry, but they have a name!"

Something, something I could _use_! "Yeah? What is it?"

"I can't say it's of much use to you, but those alley rats called themselves the Point Men." I could see him throw up his hands as an exaggerated shrug. "Hope it helps!"

"Thanks man!"

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**Comments are appreciated :)**


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